


the golden rules of college

by almostafantasia



Series: Clexa Week 2017 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, ClexaWeek2017, F/F, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10023821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: Don’t date your roommate.Don’t have sex with you roommate.Don’t masturbate when your roommate could walk in at any moment.In which Lexa is a small flustered gay and all Clarke wants is to get herself off without being disturbed. And then the roommate situation ascends to an entirely new level…





	

When Lexa returns to her dorm after a busy morning of classes to collect something that she forgot to bring with her when she left in a hurry this morning, she knows to expect that Clarke will probably be in their shared room, perhaps working on her laptop on her bed, or sketching at her desk. What she does not expect to find, is that Clarke is on her bed with her back arched, her hand down the front of her pants, and her mouth forming a perfect circle as she gasps out her pleasure.

“Oh fuck!”

They both say the words at the same time, except that while Lexa’s is an ‘ _oh fuck, I’ve just walked in on my roommate in the middle of an orgasm’_ , Clarke’s ‘ _oh fuck’_ is soft and breathy and deliciously sinful.

Lexa’s ‘ _oh fuck_ ’ is accompanied by wide eyes that cannot stop staring and a paralysis that grips her entire body as she stands frozen in the doorway, because while Clarke is still fully clothed and Lexa can’t really see anything, the hand down the front of Clarke’s pants is moving visibly and Lexa can see _everything_.

Clarke’s ‘ _oh fuck_ ’ is quickly followed by a second profanity as she realises that she is no longer alone in the room, and she flails around to crawl underneath her duvet, despite there being nothing to cover up.

Lexa remains frozen by the door, her eyes and mouth both comically wide as her brain attempts to process what she’s just witnessed.

“Lexa, what the _fuck_?” Clarke yells. “You never come back before five on a Friday!”

At Clarke’s words, Lexa snaps out of her trance, only to notice that Clarke’s hair is mussed and her cheeks are heavily flushed.

(She tries not to ponder too deeply on whether the colour comes from her embarrassment, or if her cheeks had already been a little red before Lexa burst into the room. She fails, _obviously_.)

“I…” Lexa’s eyebrows furrow together as she gestures vaguely at her side of the room, the happenings of the last thirty seconds having taken her so much by surprise that she has a little trouble recalling why she decided to return to her dorm in the first place, instead of heading to the library as she normally does on a Friday after her morning classes finish. “I have a deadline but I accidentally left my essay here.”

Making as little eye contact with Clarke as she can, Lexa stumbles across their room to her desk, grabbing a stack of paper that she knows has her essay in it somewhere and, not bothering to look through it to get rid of the sheets that she doesn’t need, stuffs the whole lot haphazardly into the bag hanging from her shoulder.

She leaves the room in a rush without a word, nor another glance back at Clarke.

* * *

With the memories of Clarke getting herself off permanently burned into the front of her mind, Lexa doesn’t return to her dorm room for two whole days, instead spending the weekend crashing on Anya’s floor. Anya, thankfully, doesn’t push for an answer as to why Lexa has temporarily moved out of her own bedroom, nor does she hurry Lexa into returning to her dorm.

But Sunday evening rolls around and Lexa knows that she has to go back at some point, and she can’t keep wearing the same pair of jeans for too much longer without completely disgracing herself and her usually impeccable hygiene routine.

Clarke seems surprised to see Lexa, and as Lexa crosses the threshold into the bedroom that somehow doesn’t really feel like hers anymore, she’s hit with the memories of what happened the last time she walked through this door. She wonders if she’s perhaps made the wrong decision by coming home. Maybe Lexa would have been better off going straight to the RA and asking for a room transfer to save her having to face Clarke again after seeing what she did.

Clarke starts speaking at once, a fumbling apology that Lexa knew to expect yet somehow didn’t think to prepare a response to.

“I’m sorry about…”

“It’s fine,” Lexa cuts Clarke off, dropping her bag down onto the floor at the foot of her bed and immediately going over to her closet as an excuse to have her back to Clarke. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

It takes almost three minutes of uncomfortable silence for Lexa to realise that actually, maybe they _do_ need to talk about it.

“I get it,” she blurts out suddenly, disturbing the stillness of the room and causing Clarke’s head to snap up at her words. “You’ve got urges. There’s nothing wrong with it. Everybody does it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” Clarke says indignantly. “I’m just worried that I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” Lexa practically squeaks.

“Sure,” Clarke says, with a disbelieving tone.

“I’m not,” Lexa insists, shutting her closet door and walking over to her bed to take a seat near the pillows, her legs crossed underneath her. “I … I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to come home early,” Clarke admits, and when Lexa finally looks up at her for the first time since entering the room, she notices the dusting of pink on Clarke’s cheeks, much paler than the flush that had crossed her face when Lexa had interrupted her alone time.

(The very fact that this is the first thing that registers in Lexa’s mind has a blush passing across Lexa’s own face.)

“Obviously,” mumbles Lexa.

“Are we still cool?” Clarke asks, a hopeful expression on her face.

Lexa hesitates before answering, letting out a long breath and closing her eyes, before finally replying, “Yeah, we’re cool.”

* * *

They are anything but cool.

Things don’t go back to normal, and Lexa thinks that the problem is that she can no longer remember what normal feels like. Not when the only thing that she can think about whenever she looks at Clarke is the whine of pleasure that she lets out when she came, or the visual of Clarke’s hand moving rapidly up and down within the confines of her pants.

They barely speak to each other – Lexa’s efforts to remain out of the room whenever she knows that Clarke will be home are a big part of that, but even when they are both present, there are hardly any words spoken between them. The air in the room is always thick with some kind of unresolved tension, and Lexa isn’t quite sure what can be done to get rid of it.

Or if anything can be done at all to get rid of it.

* * *

It’s Clarke who comes up with the solution. And it’s a solution that, in hindsight, is probably the best thing to ever happen to Lexa, though she never would have even thought about suggesting it herself.

It happens when they’re both silently working on their respective sides of the bedroom. Lexa is one and a half pages into a four page report, diligently working her way through her highlighted notes from class, when she hears the heavy sigh come from Clarke’s side of the room.

“I’m sick of this.”

Turning around in her chair to look at her roommate, Lexa finds that Clarke is staring right back at her, a disconcerted frown on her face.

“Sick of what?” Lexa asks, feeling the way that her heart starts pounding slightly harder in her chest in anxiety for no apparent reason.

“Sick of _this_.” Clarke gestures between them as if it is supposed to answer Lexa’s question. When Lexa’s expression remains blank, Clarke lets out another sigh and elaborates, “Things have been weird ever since you walked in on me…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t _need_ to finish the sentence and Lexa is rather grateful that she doesn’t.

“Yeah, well…” Lexa starts, then abruptly stops and closes her mouth when she realises that she can’t actually find any words to say on the matter. Apparently Clarke isn’t the only one having trouble finishing her sentences.

“Look, I _know_ that it’s my fault. But you’re not making it any easier.”

Lexa’s eyebrows dip into a frown and she opens her mouth to protest, but before she can get the words out, Clarke has started speaking again.

“I think I could possibly have dealt with this situation a little better if I hadn’t been on the verge of asking you out when it happened.”

Anything that Lexa might have been about to say drops from her tongue when she hears Clarke’s words. She’s only been rendered completely speechless once in her life before – walking in on your roommate masturbating tends to do that to a person – but never has she been reduced to the point where her brain stops functioning completely.

“I … what?” she chokes out.

“I am insanely attracted to you,” Clarke continues to ramble, apparently unaware of Lexa’s current lack of cognitive functions. “I mean, _look_ at you. Who wouldn’t be? And yes, before you start, I know it’s like the golden rule of college that you should never date your roommate but I was just about to say fuck that and ask you out anyway when you just _had_ to walk in on me getting myself off. You fucked it all up!”

“ _I_ fucked it all up?” Lexa questions, finally regaining her voice and at least a little part of her brain back. And then she registers everything else that Clarke has said, and realises that perhaps she’s focusing on entirely the wrong thing. “Wait, you think I’m attractive?”

“Yes!” Clarke insists, rolling her eyes as if to say _‘well obviously’_.  “And if you’d only come back a few minutes later then you wouldn’t have seen anything and I wouldn’t have spent the last couple of weeks dying inside at the knowledge that the girl I’ve got a massive fucking crush on has seen me mid-orgasm!”

 _Crush_. Lexa says the word over and over again in her mind, as if repetition will make the entire situation a little less surreal, and then remembers how she’s spent the last couple of weeks. Which is to say that she’s been agonisingly torn between wanting to wipe the memory from her mind completely, and desperately hoping each time that she returns to their room that she might walk in on Clarke doing the same thing again.

“What if I’ve been dying inside too?” Lexa says slowly. “What if I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you – about what I saw?” Feeling a moment of bravery inspired by Clarke’s own confession, Lexa adds shakily, “What if I’ve been hoping to see it again but under different circumstances?”

It’s Clarke’s turn to be dumfounded into silence. She just stares at Clarke, the only sign that she’s actually heard what Lexa has said is that way that her eyes gradually widen and her mouth drops open.

“What if,” Lexa continues, when Clarke says nothing, “I were to ask you out? What would happen then?”

“It depends,” answers Clarke, her voice dry and croaky.

“On what?”

Lexa thinks she might be about to pass out in anticipation of Clarke’s next words. Either from cardiac arrest or from lack of oxygen. Whichever one happens first. It feels a little bit like all of her vital organs are going to stop working in favour of contorting into a twisted mess deep inside her chest.

“On whether this is all just hypothetical or if you’re actually going to follow through.”

Her heart thudding against her ribcage so loud and fast that Lexa is pretty sure that Clarke will be able to hear it from her side of the room, Lexa says, “Clarke Griffin, will you go on a date with me?”

Clarke is nodding before Lexa has even finished asking the question.

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

The flood of relief that washes over Lexa’s body feels a lot like slowly sinking into a piping hot bath, warming her right to her bones and filling her with a pleasant haze.

“How does tonight sound?” Lexa asks, hoping that her voice doesn’t come across as too eager and then realising that the twist that this conversation has taken means that she really doesn’t care at all. “Dinner?”

“Dinner tonight sounds perfect.”

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

They hold each other’s gaze for just a second too long, then both glance away at the same time with flushed cheeks and stifled giggles as if they are middle schoolers passing ridiculous love notes in class instead of college freshmen, one of whom has seen the other in quite a compromising position.

Lexa turns her attention back to the work spread out across her desk but it’s the last thing on her mind. She can’t stop smiling to herself at the progression of events – at how she’s gone from not even being able to look Clarke in the eye or think about her without blushing profusely to scoring a date with her. It’s not at all how she thought her evening would go when she took her books out of her bag earlier to settle down for an evening of work.

And her mind – Lexa really hates her mind for doing this, but she also kind of really loves it – immediately jumps back to the memories of how this all started, and now she _definitely_ isn’t going to be concentrating on her work any time soon.

Turning around in her chair once more, Lexa ignores the pounding of her heart and speaks as casually as though she is discussing the weather.

“I just thought I would let you know that it’s taking all the restraint I can muster to wait until after dinner before asking for a repeat performance of what I walked in on.”

They don’t make it to dinner that night.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is probably going to have a second chapter because i'm a sinner but for now it's just a oneshot


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